The Red King [Book II]

XVII

Fletcher looked half-asleep, his only eye bruised underneath with exhaustion. But, half-lidded, it was trained on James with the severity of a hawk.

ㅤThe old man Fletcher had brought trembled as his hands feathered on James' face. Terrified thumbs delicately opened and closed James' eyelids as they were inspected through a glass tool. Because the doctor's grandson was currently jailed, he was a safe enough option.

ㅤJames had resisted a diagnosis his entire life. He didn't like to characterise himself as someone who lived in denial—he liked to steadily maintain that he was sensible and sharply rational—but hearing what he'd already long known confirmed to him, it would cut.

ㅤ'F-forgive me. But, what was the paste made of, Your Majesty?'

ㅤJames didn't reply. He stared at the anxious man neutrally, pressing him with his silence, grinding it down like a foot. Sweat sheened on the wrinkles of the doctor's forehead.

ㅤ'James,' Fletcher warned.

ㅤInside Fletcher's study, dozens of lamps were aching to maintain light. It was early morning—so early it would still be considered night. James had left Alex to come here shortly after the other man passed out.

ㅤDays and nights had long muddled through each other, indistinct and indifferent to sleep and wake. His state was unafflicted by such cycles—consistent in its drunken-like blur, not swaying to one side or the other. Unlike Flether's obvious insomnia, James was balancing on a knife's edge.

ㅤ'Brindle, emberly, épineux-ash, somnette,' he listed off, revealing the ones he knew to be toxic.

ㅤ'Crow's lace?' the doctor asked.

ㅤ'...Yes.'

ㅤConsidering James hadn't revealed that flower specifically, it was a shock to hear it.

ㅤThe doctor nodded, his shoulders sighing as he wiped his tool. 'I thought so. I've seen this before.'

ㅤ'You have?'

ㅤThe doctor grimaced. 'This is used a lot, Your Majesty. May I be so forward to ask you why you began using it?'

ㅤIt was a presumptuous question, indeed. But the image of his mentor smiling down at him as he dropped a vial into James' young and broken hands came to mind, the teasing rumble of his voice calling him creepy.

ㅤ'The knowledge was shared with me.'

ㅤ'I see. Well, most people hear about it that way. Being so common, even though it probably came to the knights' attention early on, I doubt there was much they could've done about it. Crow's lace—' the doctor pointed to eyes, 'has been used widely for many years to darken one's eye colour, especially amongst those with red irises.'

ㅤ'That must mean its effects have been studied,' Fletcher interjected, hopefully.

ㅤ'Enough to know better. How are colours for you, Your Majesty?'